The dungeon was cold and damp, with walls that seemed to close in on Amara from all sides. The darkness around her was suffocating, the only light coming from a single, dim torch flickering in the corner. She could hear the distant sounds of the Blood Moon Pack’s territory—the occasional rustle of leaves, the distant howl of a wolf—but down here, it was as if she were in another world. A world of shadows and despair.
Amara sat huddled in the corner of the small, filthy cell, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her body trembled uncontrollably, both from the cold and from the remnants of her earlier panic attack. She could still feel the sharp edge of fear clawing at her insides, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to steady herself.
Her mind was a whirlwind of pain and bet
